Of Beds and Phones
by tutncleo
Summary: A short musing about some of our favorite people and phone calls. Looks at various characters. Refers to various pairings.


"**Of Beds and Phones"**

_In a recent email a very insightful and considerate reviewer made a suggestion about a way to use the phone in clarifying the plot of another story I'm writing. It was a brilliant suggestion (one I intend to use), and it got me to thinking about phone calls. That's what spurred this writing. So here it is, not really a story – more like an extended idea. _

**The First Call:**

The bedroom could only be described as sumptuous. Floor to ceiling windows facing the back garden stretched across one whole wall and were dressed with golden silk drapes. In front of the windows sat two burgundy damask wingback chairs, an inlaid wooden gaming table set for chess placed between them. The richly colored hard wood floors were warmed by three deeply colored oriental rugs that were artfully overlapped. On the walls there hung paintings of nautical and hunting scenes. Knickknacks from around the world filled shelves that were tastefully mounted around the room. A fireplace sat perpendicular to the windows, crackling softly and glowing red from the dying embers of a fire set hours ago. Yet despite housing a collection of beautiful furniture that included a Queen Anne highboy and a lovely old roll-top desk, the show piece of the room was a king-sized sleigh bed made from a rich red mahogany with leaves carved ornately around the top and edges of the two ends. It was draped in a velvet hunter green paisley bed spread. The bed was presently occupied by an older man who was sound asleep. Nestled deep in the covers, his head resting on a fluffy pillow, the man wore a small, contented smile on his sleeping face, an indication of pleasant dreams.

Suddenly this peaceful picture was disturbed by the loud ringing of a telephone. The man stirred from slumber, his right hand reaching over to the bedside table. Without opening his eyes, he groped around on the table until his hand connected with the receiver of an old fashioned candlestick style phone. He slowly sat up, swinging his legs to the side of the bed. As he drew the receiver to his ear, his other hand lifted a wind up alarm clock from the table, and held it close to his now half opened eyes; its face read 3:30.

"Hello," he mumbled.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

"This is Dr. Mallard speaking."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Is something wrong?" Dr. Mallard asked anxiously.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Oh dear," he said softly, his eyes automatically filling with tears.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

"No, there is just me. "

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Thank you. Mother and I had already discussed her wishes. I'll be there first thing in the morning to finalize the arrangements," and as he spoke a tear escaped the pools in his eyes.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"That's very kind of you. Good night."

As he returned the receiver to the phone's pedestal his shoulders slumped. Idly looking around the room, eyes registering on nothing, he was overcome by sorrow.

**The Second Call:**

_London calling to the imitation zone_

_Forget it, brother, an' go it alone_

_London calling upon the zombies of death_

_Quit holding out-and draw another breath _

The Clash sang loudly, the music reverberating off the shockingly purple walls which were covered with posters-posters of germ cells rendered in neon black- light paint warring silently with posters of unicorns and fairies. A large deep blue dresser, its drawers askew and spilling out striped, polka dotted and plaid stockings, printed t-shirts, leather belts and assorted black bras and lace corselets, held the boom box that was producing the music. A fuchsia beanbag chair sat in one corner, piled high with a dizzying array of clothing and shoes. In front of the beanbag chair, on a lime green fake fur rug was a white plastic table, holding an extremely large glass beaker, in which swam two black fan tailed gold fish. Running parallel to one long wall, on a silver painted platform, was a double -wide black lacquered coffin, its lid secured to the wall like a sideways headboard. In the center of the coffin, her back leaning against the lid, surrounded by stuffed animals, sat Abby Scuito.

Black hair pulled up into pig tails atop her hair, dressed in a black lace tank top and black satin tap pants trimmed with silver embroidered spiders, Abby provided a sharp contrast to the brightly colored objects in her room. Swinging in time to the music, Abby's bare legs dangled out and over the side of the coffin. Her toes were separated by foam dividers while the red polish she had just applied to them dried and she was typing away on a small notebook computer she held on her lap. When the phone rang, she placed the computer on the lap of one of the teddy bars residing in the coffin, hopped down and, with toes pointed to the ceiling, she waddled over to the dresser to answer.

"Abby Scuito, Dark Mistress of the World!" she answered, as she turned down the music.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Not much, surfing and IM'ing. What are you up to?"

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"How's it coming?" she chirped.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Hum. Well, the last chapter was awesome," she said encouragingly.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Want me to come over and be your muse? Bet I can inspire you." she purred.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"That's what friends with benefits do Timmy. I'll be there in a flash," and, already lifting up a foot to free her toes, she hung up.

**The Third Call:**

It was 6:00 in the evening of December 1st. Through the small window, partially covered by a brown venetian blind, she could see the sun setting. The room was softly lit by a floor lamp which stood behind a light green and tan striped club chair. She looked around the room. There wasn't much to see and she thought briefly that it looked a lot like a hotel room. There was a long, low rectangular dresser made out of blonde oak with a small television set sitting on it. Next to that were the mirrored bi-fold closet doors. The taupe walls held no pictures. A small oak writing desk sat on one wall, bills and correspondence sorted and neatly stacked in piles in the center, a small phone sat in the corner. The floor was covered with the same off- white, low pile carpet that apartment management companies across the nation used.

She walked across the room to the bed. It was a plain bed, standard sized, just a mattress and box springs on a metal frame. The box frame was skirted in tan cotton. The mattress with covered with a matching blanket, its ends folded with military precision and tucked tightly at the corners. At the head of the bed lay two white pillows. Nervously, she ran her hand over the already smooth surface, as if checking for imperfections. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked at the small table beside her. On it sat an ornate, multipronged, silver candelabrum – one of the few personal objects on display in the room. She picked it up and studied the engraved decoration which ran along the arms and base. Its patina spoke to its age. Here was a piece that had been handled and loved for many years. Reverently placing it back on the table she picked up two small taper candles. Reaching into the pocket of her cargo pants she pulled out a lighter. Carefully she placed one of the candles in the prong on the far right side of the candelabrum, then, using the lighter she lit the remaining candle, which she then used to light the candle already on the candelabrum. Afterwards she placed the remaining candle in the raised center prong. Closing her eyes and slightly bowing her head, she prayed.

After a few minutes she straightened, stood and went over to the desk. After staring at the phone for a long moment, she took a deep breath and picked up the receiver and dialed a long string of numbers.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Shalom, it is Ziva. How are you, Sarah?" she asked.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Is he available?"

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"That would be great. Thank you."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Shalom. "

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Yes, I have been very busy," she said and was interrupted before she could continue.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Of course I can hold."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"I understand. We will talk soon," she said, in a tightly controlled voice.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Shalom," she said, and hung up the phone.

She glanced over at the candles, then reached out to rest her hand on the phone's receiver, and very softly she said, "Happy Hanukkah, Papa."

**The Fourth Call:**

The first thing everyone noticed when walking into the room for the first time was the television. It was a 55 inch Sony and was positioned in the center of the wall facing the door. It was presently tuned to a football game. Underneath and on either side of the television were steel bookshelves. A Bose stereo system, DVD player and large speakers were housed on the shelves. All the rest of the available space on the bookshelves was crammed full of DVD's. Against one side wall was a black and chrome dresser, topped with a series of silver frames holding pictures of friends and co-workers. A softly pillowed plum leather loveseat held pride of place across from the dresser. The bed was on the same wall as the door. It was a tall modern bed, the mattresses held up on steel legs. The headboard consisted of more steel shelves, with a smoky grey piece of glass running along the top. Two chrome goose neck reading lights sat on top of the glass at either end and more photographs spanned the gap between. Inside the shelves sat more DVD's, an electric alarm clock, and an assortment of magazines. The black, mauve and purple pinstriped duvet covering the bed was rumpled and showed signs of having been lain on, and four thick pillows in matching shams were scattered across the bed. Protruding out from under the bed were two long, lean legs, clothed in softly faded denim and attached to a very nice rear end. A ribbon of bare back was visible above the waistband of the jeans, and the whole body was wiggling slightly.

Suddenly the back left pocket of the jeans began to vibrate. A muffled "shit" could be heard coming from under the bed, and a hand reached back and snatched a cell phone from the pocket. Then the hand disappeared back under the bed, taking the phone with it.

"DiNozzo" said the voice under the bed, as the body and upper legs lifted up and the knees drew forward. There was a loud bang followed by an equally loud, "Ouch, damn it!"

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"I whacked the back of my head on the underside of the bed," said DiNozzo defensively.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Very funny, Boss," he said sarcastically.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"The remote slid off the back of the bed and I had to crawl under to get it," DiNozzo admitted grudgingly.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Har, har, har."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Just the Ohio State game I tivoed yesterday. Nothing that important. I know how it ends."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"That sounds good. Gonna ply me with alcohol and bribe me with pizza?"

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Hey, I'm not that easy!" DiNozzo complained as he slid his now flattened body all the way out from under the bed, phone in one hand, remote in the other.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Keep saying things like that and I think that bang to my head is going to produce a major headache," he threatened as he tossed the remote onto the bed.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Yeah, I know." He said, his voice softening and a slow smile spreading across his face.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"I'd give you that for free," he said in gentle, teasing voice.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Maybe I should be bringing _you _a pizza"

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"Be there soon, Jethro," and he closed his phone, still smiling and eyes sparkling.


End file.
